Do Me A Favour
by foolcklw
Summary: Gil's name is involved in a strange and difficult case. He will come back to Las Vegas. And Grillows know there's a girl waiting for him …
1. One

_I wanted to write a Grillows long story, the idea came and I just started it._

_Again I tell you I'm Italian but I love English. Please, don't have mercy on me: I don't need it. I need healthy criticism._

_Enjoy yourselves,_

_A Fool_

One

She saw David Hodges at her door and rolled her eyes.

"Catherine …" he called her, a hand on the glass.

She showed him the mobile she was holding against her ear and lifted a eyebrow, as to say … go away! But Hodges didn't.

"Catherine!" he whispered "It's important!"

She paused the call and burnt him with a terrifying look.

"Hodges I can't now, please come later"

Without waiting for the answer, she restarted the call again. Maybe it was a policemen. Maybe it was a teacher, maybe a luminary. Or maybe it was her daughter. Hodges didn't care. He just entered the room and grabbed the phone from her hand. Then he closed it.

"When I say that something is important," he let a sheet of paper fall on her desk "it _is _important."

She had no words. She was staring at him with her mouth wide open and was more amused than angry. She turned the paper and read it. Gradually she became paler. The vague smile vanished from her lips. When she looked up at Hodges she was so serious that he got scared.

"Repeat the analysis" she ordered.

"Do you think I did not, before coming here and telling you?"

She read the paper again, all over again, from the beginning till the end. She bit her bottom lip.

"Catherine …" Hodges tried, taking a step forward "… what does … what does this mean?"

She gave him a strange, cold look. It seemed she was empty, it seemed that all her feelings had abandoned her body.

"Could you leave me alone, David? Call the team in the lab. I'll come in a minute."

He silently obeyed. He knew the news he had taken to her was heavy and unexpected. As soon as the door closed behind him, she let a hand reach her head. Fingers and hair met and melted. She closed her eyes and sighed. When she reopened them they accidentally fell on the paper.

She whispered the name that was written in the bottom of the page.

"Gilbert Grissom"

**TWO DAYS BEFORE**

It was a fucking bad day.

When the call had come she was sleeping perfectly. The arms on the pillow, the mouth opened a little, a regular breath. But that damned telephone had ruined everything.

"_Willows" she mumbled after searching for the mobile._

"_It's Brass. We've got a 419 in a garage. You come?"_

In the bathroom she smiled, as she remembered that Brass had a sleepy voice too. So she wasn't the only one who'd been ripped out of her bed that morning, she realized while wearing the pair of trousers she had prepared the day before. She buttoned the blue blouse up and grabbed her jacket and the car keys.

Despite the way that day had begun, she was stunning. Her blond hair were straight and shiny in the dark air of the night. The walk was firm, the eyes were alert. Brass was waiting for her on the street. He said hi to her by lifting up the head.

"Who's the victim?" she asked while they were reaching the garage.

A few policemen were in the desert field the garage had been built on. She recognized Greg and Sara talking in the entrance.

"Robert Damage, age forty-two, Caucasian. We found his wallet full of dollars."

"So the simplest motif is out. No robbery. Hi guys."

Greg and Sara both offered her a weak smile and followed her in.

The victim was laying down on the pavement. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, both clean and complete. There was no blood around him.

"Any idea about the cause of death?" Catherine asked.

She crouched near the victim and observed his body. She noticed three deep circles round each of his wrists.

"The murderer left nothing on his face, neither on the neck. Apart from the wrists, you should think he was in good health. But look here."

Sara knitted down and lifted up the t-shirt. Catherine tilted the head and sighed as she saw what Sara wanted to show her. There were three deep cut on his chest, all very close and parallel.

"They're about six inches long."

"No blood around the wounds. Did he wash the victim?"

Sara nodded.

"That's the only explanation."

"And he smells good, too. Someone stabs you this way and you don't sweat? Not even a little?" added Greg, who was standing behind Catherine.

"Where is David?" asked her calmly. She straightened the legs, followed by Sara.

"He's coming."

Catherine nodded and gestured to them.

"Greg, you go outside. Sara and I will think about the inside."

He obeyed her and went out.

The two women were concentrating on the body when Greg's voice called them. He was shouting. He ran up to the door of the garage and wickedly smiled in their address.

"Hey girls, be kind. Remember to thank the bastard, when we get him."

Catherine and Sara glanced at each other when they saw he was holding a environment in his left hand.

There was a bloody knife inside.


	2. Two

_Hey everybody! I know, I know I'm late. But I think this is the only bad news. The good news is that this chapter is longer and I've got a few ideas I love, which I will develop._

_I can tell you that from now on the chapters will be divided into two parts: the present and the past, following the opening chapter. The titles will simply be numbers, but in each of them there will be a quotation from one of the Grillows dialogues in CSI._

_I hope I've made myself clear; just tell me if you liked it, okay?_

_Enjoy yourselves,_

_A Fool_

Two

"I missed your tush"

Catherine barely heard the water falling in the bath. The calm sound was just the theme of the flashback that was being played into her mind.

_In the lab, she found her team. They were all waiting for her. She closed the door and stopped with the palms against it. The glass was cold. Finally, she turned and gave them a fragile look._

"_Catherine, what's up? Is there something new in the 'three cuts' case?" asked Nick. _

_She raised her face._

"_Exactly, Nick. Now guys, I want you to carefully listen to this new thing. Please, leave the surprised reactions inside your minds, okay?"_

_They nodded. The elder agents (Sara, Nick, Greg) couldn't stand to wait that much and looked annoyed._

"_Do you remember that little spot of blood Greg found on the knife?"_

_Again, they nodded._

"_Well, Hodges has just taken me the results. We've got a name."_

"_Whose the blood?" asked Sara._

_Catherine bit her lips before answering. Strange, uh? Sara herself was the one who had asked it._

"_It's Gilbert Grissom's."_

The water stopped running and she slipped into the bath. That case was complicated enough before that damned result came up and now, with that familiar name pulsing into her head, the situation was even worse. She completely merged into the water and closed her eyes.

"_Hypotheses?" she asked, staring at each of them._

_Langstone hesitated, then spoke._

"_Catherine, didn't you teach me that murderers can cut themselves while they're stabbing the victim?"_

_They all held their breaths._

Yes, unfortunately that was true.

The situation was weird for every member of the team. And Langstone wasn't an exception. Plus, he had substituted Gil. He had taken his place. They missed Grissom and they still wanted him to come back. It hadn't been easy to accept Langstone. It hadn't been easy for Langstone to insert in that habitat of close friends. And in that moment his reasoning had taken him to the simple and terrible conclusion no one of Grissom's friends wanted to express.

Gil could scientifically be the murderer.

"_Well, this is one. Someone else?"_

"_It is … it is possible that the knife had been used before this murder. And maybe the … maybe the victim was Grissom." managed to say Nick, muttering._

What was better? Gil as the murderer or Gil as the victim? Catherine's face appeared from the surface and her mouth opened to take some air in. She gasped.

There were a lot of possibilities and that afternoon they had said them all. But now she was tired and she didn't want to hear another word from her memory. She finished to wash and went out of the bath. After putting on a red robe, she closed the door of the bathroom behind her. She reached that Lindsay's bedroom. It was closed. She stopped in front of it and knocked on the wood.

"Hey?" she paused "Can I come in?"

An affirmative answer came from inside. The handle lowered under her hand and she opened the door. The room was dark. There were a lot of posters on the walls with Lindsay's favorite singers and actors. Among them Catherine recognized Robert Pattinson, the star of Twilight. Her daughter had completely gone crazy for that boy.

"Have you and Robert had a talk? He's a nice guy. A bit shy, but nice." she joked, letting her shoulder stop against the frame of the door.

The man on the bed hardly smiled. The contrast between his considerable body and the pink sheets was so funny that she couldn't help but smile back to him, though hers was a bigger smile. She finally entered the room and took a sit on the bed, near his feet. She observed his face and the smile vanished from her lips. He was slimmer than usual.

"We need to talk, Gil." she whispered.

"What about?"

She moved her eyes away from his. He knew her too well.

"About my case."

Catherine glanced to his feet. He was wearing grey stockings and she placed a hand on them. He was warm, as warm as she needed a body to be. She was perfectly divided in two parts: the one that wanted comfort after a bad day at work, the one that wanted some explanations from her best friend. And she was trying to keep concentrated on the second part.

"Cath, what's the matter?" he asked.

Gil was starting to worry. He sat on the bed, so that their faces were closer. He examined her fair skin, the sad look she had, the water that had soaked her strands during the bath. When she looked up to him, she was breathing heavily. The problem was she didn't know how to explain it.

"Catherine, I'm …"

"Show me your hands" she ordered him.

His eyebrows met, but he slowly obeyed. She analyzed his fingers, the tips, the palm. She touched his skin and carefully caressed it. Gil knew this way to move: in that moment she wasn't her friend, she was a CSI member. She took some minutes to examine his hands, then she let them go.

Her fingers went to her forehead, they rubbed it. She sighed in relief and finally moved the hand to his face. She cupped it. Her palm was trembling, but she smiled.

"Cath, I"

Her thumb interrupted his words by closing his lips. Then, after an imperceptible hesitation, she let her hand run across his neck and with the other she hugged him. His arms slowly encircled her body and pulled her tighter, but it was just a tiny bit; Gil's tiny bit. Which was like a tiny smile, a tiny compliment, a tiny touch with the tip of a finger. The tiny bit that had never been enough for her, never. But that was Grissom. And she had learnt to accept him years before, when they first met. Now, what was that hug? Nothing but a strategy to avoid temptations. Temptations like kissing him. A hug was something. A hug was the possibility of having him closer. So she was enjoying this subtle sensation when the bell rang. Her eyebrows raised together, she opened her eyes.

"Are you waiting someone?" Gil's voice came.

"None" she answered, while mentally fumbling for a name to associate with the visit.

His arms fell down, on the bed. She slipped out of the room and opened the door.

"Hi, Catherine."

God, was that true? Or was she dreaming?

"Hi to you, Sara." she mumbled, closing her robe with her fingers.

"I'm sorry, I know it's late but I needed to talk to you. Can I steal you a couple of minutes?"

Catherine bit the interior part of her cheek and, after a quick glance to Lindsay's door (which was still closed) she nodded.

"Of course. Tell me"

"Uh, I … am leaving, Catherine. I have no idea 'bout the time it'll take me, but I need to go. I need to see him, can you understand me? I reckon I need your permission, so … will you allow me to go, please?"

Catherine was wordless. What to tell her? What to do? She should have said no, because she knew that Sara wouldn't find him, since he was in her house. But what would her reaction be? And if she said yes, just go, what would Sara and the team and everybody say about it, then? She stared at her and waited a few seconds. Time was useful both to think and to wait for him, though he should have already appeared.

"Look, Sara … I'm not really sure that going there is a good decision. Think about it. Think about leaving now, during the night … I am-"

"Catherine, I said I was going to ask your permission because I hoped you could understand me. But I'm going to leave whatever your answer will be."  
She looked worried and her eyes were those of a human being who's spent big time crying. Cath sighed deeply and shook her head, hopeless.

"Okay, if you … if that's what you want to do, go. You've got my permission."

"Thank you. I will keep in contact with you, I promise. Now I have to go. Thank you for understanding me, Catherine."

She smiled weakly and then disappeared. Catherine closed the door and her back crushed against it. She closed her eyes, let time pass by. As soon as the world came back into her eyes, she saw him, there, just a few steps outside her daughter's bedroom. She tilted her head and observed him. There he was. Impossible to understand, impossible not to love.

**TWO DAYS BEFORE**

That day had been a confirm to the idiom: man born round don't die square. It had started bad and was on the verge of ending worse. She had worked all day, _they_ had worked the whole day. The case was a mess. No evidence, no traces, no ways. The only thing that could save them was the knife. In the knife we all trust, she thought, turning off the car. She grabbed her handbag and the briefcase from the seat next to hers and got off. The night was cool, the sky terse. She reached her own door with the help of the moon and began fumbling for the keys. She had found them when she felt a breath against her back. Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and, before she could yell something, another gloved one was pressed on her lips. She tried to get free, but she failed. The man behind her stole her the keys and quickly opened the door, then he took her inside. When the door hit the wall, he let her go and she was ready to punch him, but she saw him. His face. And she stood in the hall, motionless.

"Oh, my-"

But she stopped as her hand reached her lips. It covered them. She smiled.

"God …" she finished the sentence, taking a step back.

Gil Grissom. Gilbert Grissom right in front of her, Grissom back, Grissom in her house. He nodded.

"I'm sorry for …"

With a finger he pointed at his gloves. He pulled them out and beamed softly, as softly as he used to do. She shook her head and her fingers starting searching for the sofa. She fell on it, still keeping her eyes on him, on the man she had missed so much and for such a long time. She desperately wanted to cry.

He moved from the hall, took a step forward. Another.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yes, I'm just … why … I mean, why have you …"

Her words died. She only wanted him to stay, to talk with her, to sit with her on the sofa and laugh.

"I'm here because" he paused "I'm here because Sara and I have some troubles. We need to strike a balance, again. I would like to … I need some time to think, and I need to do it here, in Vegas."

He stopped and glanced at her. Though his tentative to explain was cute, she already knew. She had been feeling it since he first appeared into her eyes.

He was going to stay.

_I forgot to tell you one thing. The reason why I'm late is that I've spent two weeks in England, studying English, obviously, and obviously thinking of the fan fiction. I hope you noticed something! Please let me know._

_Thank you_


	3. Three

_Longer chapter, exciting ideas coming up to my mind … hope you like it._

_See you soon,_

_A Fool_

Three

"I'll make it up to you"

_Grissom_

When she entered the lab, Hodges was working carefully on something, with his usual look of gorgeous and perfect scientist. His hands were quick and efficient. His eyes were narrowed. In a few steps Catherine was at his side: she observed him.

"The show is four dollar, Catherine. You can leave the money in my pocket if you like" he joked.

But she wasn't there for entertainment. Neither her case nor the thought Grissom in her house permitted her to laugh, or even smile. She was serious, determined, and as his eyes reached hers, he noticed it.

"What's the matter, Catherine?" he asked, with a bit of fret.

She lifted her chin and deepened the look.

"I wonder if you can keep a secret, David."

Slowly, he let his tools reach the top of the table. She had all his attention, now. Her eyes were hipping on his face, down his cheek, from lip to lip, on the nose, on the eyebrows. Could she really trust David Hodges? And tell him everything? Tell him … tell him about Grissom?

"I can't have you trust me, Catherine. But I can assure you I won't say a word on it, whatever _it_ is"

She put a hand on his shoulder. He glimpsed at her fingers and his heart skipped many beats. She went closer to him, grasping his wrist with a strength he would have never imagined in his whole career at the crime lab. His breath became faster and faster, his saliva boycotted his mouth.

"If you say yes to me, David, there will be no doubt on your silence. You won't spill a single word, have I made myself clear?" she hissed.

Her voice was strong. Her voice was sharp. Her voice was the mirror of her eyes: clean, terse, perfectly able to respect the threat she had just said in a low, controlled voice. In the exact moment Hodges' head moved up and down, he felt scared. David Hodges felt scared of Catherine Willows.

A couple of minutes later they were in her car. She was driving silently and he was looking at the street without seeing it. She cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, before." she whispered, turning the head to face the landscape instead of his fearful eyes.

He nodded.

"No probs."

But that sentence was far from the storm that was taking place into his head. Where were they going? Why was Catherine so upset? Why did he need to be so silent? What was he going to see? She had got him to take his tools with him. On what purpose? When the car stopped, he erased all this questions from his mind, as If she could read them and get angrier; but she didn't even glance at him. She ordered him to follow her but stay outside the house, she would tell him when come in. And it was when they abandoned the car that he realized they had reached Catherine's house.

Meantime, she had disappeared behind the door.

"Gris?" she called.

"Cath?" he asked, while his surprised face popped up from the kitchen.

"You should be at work now, shouldn't you?"

She didn't answer, hoping that her eyes could convey him some message she just wasn't able to utter. She wanted to explain, but she didn't know how. She wanted him to understand; but she didn't think he would. So she simply opened the door. So suddenly, unexpectedly, Grissom and Hodges saw each other. And Catherine felt her stomach hit the floor as his friends' eyes caught hers, craving for explanation, angry, sad. She turned her head.

"David, I want you to analyze him as you would do at the lab. Take photos especially of the chest and the back, but report everything that's similar to a bruise, a scratch, a cut. Everything. And, David" she tightened the grip to his wide eyes "remember you promised. Now I need to go."

And she headed to the bathroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bath, tearing a paper towel into pieces. Her eyes were on the floor, her head empty, her cheeks wet. As she heard the door opening she jumped on her feet.

"We've finished" muttered Hodges, respectfully stuck on the doorstep of the bathroom. She nodded, he closed the door behind him.

"The evidence" he showed her a bag "And the photos" with a memory card in the other gloved hand.

"What do you want me to do with these?"

She sighed.

"Just tell me how … tell me about the analysis."

Hodges wanted to know something more. He wanted the explanations he deserved as much as Grissom did; but he just obeyed to her, pitiful of the desperation he could see arching in her eyes.

"The analysis revealed three hidden signs on each of his wrists and two marks probably consequential to punches or more generally to a fight on his back and chest. And …" there he stopped, shaking his head, filling his cheeks up with air and then letting it go before his tongue said "a single superficial cut of a two at the bottom of his back. The number two."

Her chest went up and down, slow, powerful. There the scary answer was. Or, at least, a single piece of the scary truth. She tried to hide her trembling fingers, but she could swear he had already seen them.

"Thank you" she murmured, rubbing the torso of her hand against her nose "leave both the bag on the floor. I'll have a look at them and then I'll tell you if I need you to do some more analyses at the lab, okay?"

Hodges said yes, even if nothing was okay. It was bad. It was terrible. It was a mess. So he took a step forward, another, and she seemed to suddenly remember something.

"Oh, you're right, I'll take you to the lab, before. Sorry, I'd forgotten you came with me"

"No, don't … mind for that, Catherine, I'll call a taxi." he whispered.

He smiled and, for the first time, Catherine could have access to the real Hodges, the one hidden behind a funny look, a joke: a mask. She saw his face closer and closed her eyes as she kissed her cheek. Then he hugged her and whispered to her ear: "Stay with him, Catherine. He needs you" and he left. Silent like a shadow, David Hodges left her alone with Grissom.

**THREE DAYS BEFORE**

Grissom and Catherine were sitting on the sofa. She with a glass of wine, while he had chosen a cup of coffee. It was in one of Lindsay's mugs, the one with a photo of her with a friend on the beach. Still, she was looking at him, as if she were scared that he could break into pixels and just vanish. He smiled, burying the face into the mug.

"I saw Lindsay leaving with Lily." he stated, then.

"Yes, she gave her a lift to the station. They had a trip with the school."

"The last one."

Her lips parted; he remembered of her daughter, he remembered this was her last year at a school. Then the bottom of the mug hit the table and the sweet atmosphere was broken. He lowered his eyes, took them away.

"I'm sorry, I am … I am tired, I can't even finish the coffee."

"I'm sure it was the travel. It's long and stressing. Why don't you go to sleep? We'll talk tomorrow."

It was a huge effort to say that. It was an effort to have him go to bed while she wanted to know everything about him, and just having him close was enough. But he was tired and his face was worrying her, so now the best thing for him was to have some sleep. When she proposed him so, he turned the head. His eyebrows had met.

"You can sleep in Lindsay's room, the safer place in the house. Or, at least, that's what I've tried to have it like." she laughed, while sipping the wine, a hand under her hair.

His eyes explored her face. He was extremely serious, but somehow amused by her tenderness.

"Do you really want me to sleep here?"

"No" she said, suddenly getting on her feet and picking up the mug from the table "I want you to _live _here. As long as you want to. Now go to bed."

And she disappeared in the kitchen, between the table and the counter.

She had come back home at nine pm, and at two am she wasn't able to sleep yet. The case was a nightmare, a ghost that kept on haunting her. So she got up.

When Grissom's bare feet took him to the dining room, he saw her at the kitchen table, keying something in her computer. She had her hair up in a funny mess, and her body was covered by a large, purple towel. Around the computer there were sheets of paper, documents, photos. And her concentration on her work was so high she didn't even notice him.

"Were you so industrious when I was at the head of the lab, as well?" he asked, smiling.

She jumped on the chair and suddenly turned her head. Then she sighed in relief and answered the smile with a smile. He moved towards the kitchen and stood a few steps far from her. Catherine picked up her glasses and put them on the keyboard, then she let her back hit the chair.

"You can take a seat and help me, if you want."

He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of trousers, both traces of Eddie Catherine still kept in her wardrobe. He hadn't commented when she told him so, but she had caught something moving between his eyebrows. Disappointment. Sadness for some memories, maybe. But now he was just cute with those clothes on, and she was tempting with her towel. Gently he moved his eyes on the computer's screen, while sitting next to her, and asked something about the case. She sighed.

"It isn't easy at all. A man was found this morning … well, yesterday morning in a garage, in the middle of nowhere. He had all his money in his pocket and by some researches we found out he was the owner of that place. He used to keep his motorcycles' collection there."

"What about them?"

"I said he _used_ to keep them there. He had changed their place since the feeling of being followed started to come up to his mind. His sister told us this."

"Was he married?"

She seemed surprised.

"Nope. Why are you asking?"

"Never mind. Go on. Tell me about the victim."

"The murderer stabbed him three times on his chest, the knife penetrated the heart and caused cardiac arrest. No scratches or bruises were found on his body except for three marks around each of his wrists and the number three cut into the bottom of his back. Ante mortem." she concluded, putting her hands in her lap.

He raised a few photos and observed them carefully. She smiled to his face, to his concentration, to that look that took her back to a deep past. A past she wanted to be present. Then, suddenly, she remembered something.

"Where are your glasses?"

He turned his head, slightly disturbed by the question.

"I've got contact lens now. Sara's idea."

She smiled weakly and took her eyes back to the screen of the computer. Every time his lips said that name, she couldn't help but feel pain in her heart, sadness, the hurting possibility of being at her place, now. She sighed.

"Epithelium?"

"No."

"Prints?"

"No."

"What did provoke the bruises on his wrists?"

"Nick's working on it. We thought about cords, but the hypothesis wasn't proved yet."

"Wait, what's … this is a knife"

"Yes, Greg found it outside the garage. Strange enough to be such a cunning murderer who leaves no traces behind himself but the knife he used to stabbed the victim." she hissed.

But Grissom was strange. Something had changed on his face.

"Did you find spots on it?"

"Yes, one. But it's so small it'll take some time to extract the DNA. We have to wait."

He nodded and laid the photos on the table. Still, he was puzzled, worried. Catherine noticed it but thought it was just tiredness and suggested him to go to sleep.

"You should come, too. Have some rest, Catherine. They'll need you the most powerful you can be, tomorrow. And you're going to get a flue with that wet towel on."

She put her glasses on, amused by his attention.

"I've lost my robe, papa. I think Lindsay stole it to me to take it for the trip."

"Don't call me papa." he muttered, getting on his feet.

She chuckled and he went to bed.


	4. Four

_A little bit late, with a little bit shorter chapter … will you forgive me? I love the quote I've placed at the beginning of the chapter. It's a symbol of their jokes and has something to do with the theme of "lies", hasn't it? Tell me what you think._

_As always, enjoy_

_A fool_

Four

"When Eddie was cheating on me …"

_Catherine_

"Catherine, where are you?"

Nick's voice was nothing more than interrogative, but she felt scolded and closed her eyes, while trying to find a good and plausible excuse. Her hand flew into the air as she spoke.

"I'm … I can't really talk now, Nick, can you call me in, let's say, an hour?"

"Yes" but he sounded puzzled "yes, Catherine, don't mind. I'll call you later."

"Bye Nick"

"Bye"

Grissom watched her closing her mobile and throwing it on the sofa. Then she lifted up her eyes and both of them felt panic in their bones, fright, anxiety. She had betrayed him, she had taken someone into her house to have him analyzed like a criminal. And he hadn't told her so many things. He had hidden them; he had told her lies.

"Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?" he asked, in a low voice.

She shook her head.

"I want you to tell me the truth. I'm not hungry, Grissom, I'm _angry_."

Her voice was so subtle, her face seemed so thin. She had spent nervous and intense days on that case, getting more and more worried, and this new brick was going to make everything she had built fall down, to earth. He clutched his fist, near his thigh, and his chin raised.

"What truth are you talking about? The one you were searching for when you took Hodges here to meet me?"

"Well, I had to do th-"  
"I trusted you, Catherine." he interrupted her, abruptly.

Her eyes sharpened, her voice became higher.

"I trusted you too!"

Her hands raised in frustration and she turned, so that he faced her back. His breath was fast, his chest moved violently, but his body was so steady, it didn't move.

"But you lied to me" she added in a whisper, still giving him her back.

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" suddenly she turned, fire in her eyes "You don't know it, really, you have no idea? You're not here for Sara, you two don't have problems, or you would have stopped her when she came, you would have told her to stay here, to talk with you. You let her go, Gil. _You_ did it, not I."

She paused to breath, they stared at each other.

"And I feel so bad to be angry with you" she continued, now almost whispering "I feel so bad to shout to you, because … because I thought you were the murderer, and I found out you're the victim."

She took a step toward him, whimpering in front of a stuck Grissom, the glacial side of him, which was the hardest one to cope with.

"Why did you … why did you tell me nothing?" she asked, a few breaths far from him.

She looked into his eyes.

"You don't have contact lens, do you? They're no good for you. Your glasses broke in the fight."  
"Which fight?"

The question evaded his lips, he had no control on it. She took a deep breath and her eyes fell on his right wrist, she gently encircled it with her fingers. He watched her hand, motionless. She watched his eyes, ready to cry.

"You can talk to me, Gil. You can tell me everything. Because I need to know."

Then, his admission, heavy and soft like a stone that rolls down someone's chest.

"I don't remember, Catherine. I can't remember anything about it."

Her eyebrows lifted a bit.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

He hesitated, then leaned over her and, without removing his eyes from hers, he kissed her. She closed her eyes and let his wrist go. Her head went backwards.

"I must go now" was the vague sentence that separated her staying in front of him from her disappearing.

"Wow, I was just going to call you. Telepathy!" Nick exclaimed.

She had reached him in the corridor and they were now walking side by side.

"Any news, Nicky?"

"Big news. Sara called from Costa Rica."

Catherine startled.

"When?"

"Just before I called you. She wanted you to listen with us, that's why I phoned you."

"We'll call her now."

"Now?"

"Yes. I want everyone in my office."

In a few minutes they were all around her desk, where the phone was lying.

"Sara?" said Catherine.

"Hey guys, here I am."

Her voice seemed tired and worried, but she didn't want to show it.

"How are you, Sara?" asked Nick.

"Uh, I'm … fine, I'm fine thanks"  
"Where are you?"

This was Greg. She sighed.

"In our house. He's not here."

Nick glanced at Catherine, frustrated. She soon escaped his eyes and spoke to Sara.

"Sara, what else did you find?"

"Yeah, that's the reason why I've called you. There's work for us here."

"You mean the lab?" Ray asked, taking a step towards the desk.

"Yes. There's a … mess here. I didn't touch anything. Though I wanted, I didn't."

Catherine's eyes lowered. She moistened her lips and thought of his. She closed her eyes and saw his wrists, his eyes. She tried to listen to Sara but the only voice she could hear was Gil's, telling her he couldn't remember. She shook her head.

"I'll send you Nick." she decided.

He nodded, whereas Greg looked a bit disappointed. She noticed it and quickly added: "I need you and Ray here, Greg, I'm sorry. Nick, book a flight. You'll leave as soon as you can. Take your kit with you."

**TWO DAYS BEFORE**

"God, what a fantastic smell"

Catherine closed the door behind her and smiled softly to the image of Gil wearing an apron.

"Can I take a photo of you?" she asked.

The keys fell on the sofa with her handbag and briefcase, while the kit had remained in the car. He was cooking. She quickly passed through the bathroom and then took a seat in the kitchen, which smelled of eggs.

"Omelet. Hope you like it" he said.

While watching him, she dialed a number on her phone.

"Honey, it's mum. I just wanted to know how your trip is going … how are you doing? Please, let me know. Hug"

With a sigh she closed the mobile. Gil handed her the plate, solidarity in his eyes.

"How's your daughter?"

"I _don't _know" she complained "she never answers to me. Why are children always so ashamed of their mothers? It's not right"

He shook his head.

"I'm not the right person to ask it to."

He pointed at her omelet.

"It'll get cold. I'm sure Lindsay's very fine, don't mind."

She smiled and started eating. Her omelet was devoured in a few seconds; Gil couldn't help but chuckle.

"You were really hungry, uh?"

"Yep" she admitted, licking the fork.

"How was your day?"

"I spent the whole morning talking of you with the guys. I told 'em how much you snore, things like this. They were all really impressed"

He looked very serious, so serious and worried that Catherine burst into laugh.

"I'm kidding you, Gil"

Catherine cleaned her mouth with a towel and he picked up the plates from the table. There they were. She was working hard on a case, trying to piece everything together, and he was away from his house, a refugee in hers, and still they could have fun. Slowly her mouth came back to normality, as she observed him washing the dishes with his hands, his back contracting, the muscles darting. When he turned she pretended to look at the table.

"What about a cup of coffee on the sofa?" he suggested.

She nodded and got on her feet.

"I'll do that."

"No, just go on the sofa. I've done nothing today and you've worked."

She was about to contradict him, but the tiredness won and she gave in. She reached the sofa and fell on it.

"What happened today?" he asked from the kitchen.

"Today?" she yawned "Greg found the kind of strings that were around the victim's wrists … guess what? Violin strings. Strange enough, uh?"

"Yes, it's quite strange. What do you think of it?"

"What I …? Well I think our murderer may be linked to this …" another, deeper, yawn "this marvelous musical … instrument"

"It is possible, actually. What about Greg? No DNA from the spot yet?"

Silence.

"Cath, can you hear me? No DNA yet?"

Again, silence. Frowning, Grissom stepped in the living room with the cups in his hands. And he saw her. Catherine was laying on the sofa, the body relaxed, the breath calm and the mouth opened a little. She had fallen asleep. He smiled. Suddenly his eyebrows separated, he crouched on the floor and put down the cups. He couldn't decide between waking her up and taking her to bed. But she looked like an angel. Her eyes, her lips, her hair were those of an angel. So he sat on the floor and picked up a cup. He started sipping. And he watched her sleep.


	5. Five

_The rating__ has changed. Please, take note of this. The quotation is not at random._

_Love you all,_

_A fool_

Five

"_I haven't had ____sex__ in ____six__, no, seven ____months__.__" Cath_

"_How can I help?" Gil_

**3**

"Stokes"

"Nick, finally. I've been calling for hours. How are you doing?"

"Oh, Catherine. We're still working. I'll try to send you the photos of … the mess. We're in his studio and … well, you'll see it."

"Is it so terrible?"

Catherine leaned over her desk, she opened the computer.

"You've seen something worse. Anyway I'm sending now, so you should receive them in a couple of minutes."

"Tell me something, Nick. Your ideas."

"Uh …"

The more she tried to analyze his voice, the more she got worried. She had started to bite her nails.

"Look, Catherine, two people at least have been fighting here. Papers on the floor, a broken chair …"

"DNA?"

"We don't know yet. Sara and I are trying to distinguish Gil's traces from the aggressor's."

Catherine almost jumped on the chair, when on the screen of the pc appeared his message.

"I've got it Nick."

"Can you see the photos?"

Oh, yes, of course she could. And how couldn't she? And how couldn't she feel panic for the things she saw? Clearly, there had been a fight in there. Grissom had fought with his aggressor, they had made many things move and fall and he couldn't remember what happened. Was that really possible?

"Catherine, everything okay?"

"Yes, yes Nick … I'm just trying to understand."

"As soon as I can I'll come back to the lab to have the samples analyzed." his voice lowered "And I would like to come back with her, Catherine. She's so worried … Grissom hasn't been contacting her since a week ago. It's a long time"

"Yeah, I know" she interrupted him, as she was starting to shiver.

Too many things had happened. Too many. Plus, feelings were so complicated, so hurting …

"Catherine, are you there?"

"Yes. I have to leave you now, Ray's coming. Bye Nicky, take care of her"

And she quickly closed the phone, not to hear his answer. However her colleague was really coming into her office. He smiled to her and stopped on the footstep.

"News from Costa Rica?"

"Some photos of the studio, nothing more. They've been fighting" she informed him, her back against the chair, swinging slowly.

"Catherine, which idea do you have of the murderer?"

"He's crazy. And he's a man, with a great strength, great but not enough to defeat Gil."

"You mean Grissom? How do you know-"

He stopped for respect and in that pause she saw the reflection of her huge mistake. She had said too much and soon she tried to correct herself.

"I don't think he was … murdered. We would have found him."

She steadied her look to convince him and in response his concentration became higher.

"So he … escaped from the murderer? And where is he now? Why didn't he come here to the lab, to his wife?"

His questions were merely scientific, but they sounded deep to her ears, they touched her. She sighed and let an enormous breath go between her perfect lips.

"I don't know, Ray"

And then a little smile mixed up with the corner of her mouth. He smiled, too.

"I'm going to go home, now. I'll take the pictures with me in search of inspiration."

She got up, but he remained there, staring at her. Since the first time he'd seen her boss, Ray Langstone had admired her. She was clever, she was nice, she was kind, she was a bitch and she was beautiful. You could see strength in her eyes and panic; fear and braveness. When she headed to the door, instinctively he grasped her wrist. She stopped, puzzled, and turned to look at him.

"Is everything okay, Catherine?" he asked her.

She smiled, tried to evade his attention.

"Yes, of course, why are you asking? I'm just tired, that's all. Don't mind"

He let her go and she almost ran through the door.

"You can talk with me, Catherine. You can talk with Nick, with Greg, with Sara and with me, as well. Just do that if you need us"

His sweet voice came to her ears a second before she started walking through the corridor. When she got out the lab, a single tear was embroidering her cheek.

No 'I'm home' that evening. No cute smells. No sweet jokes, from neither of them. Only silence, only darkness. She stepped into her flat and closed the door, trying to make the less noise she could. She reached the sofa and opened the bag that contained her computer. Keys and handbag fell on the floor, near the sofa. She sat on it and turned the computer on, placing it on her lap. Again, she examined the photos. The chair, the papers. The smell of fight, the smell of fear. How could have Gil escaped? Maybe he was desperate. And which was the link between Costa Rica and Las Vegas? Maybe he was the link. And what was the motif? Maybe he was the motif.

"Still working?"

She startled.

"You scared me" she whispered, glancing at him. He was in front of her.

"Still angry?" he went on.

She didn't answer to him. He reached the sofa.

"Can I sit here?"

Without moving her eyes from the screen, she nodded. He sat near her, but not too close. His eyes glided on her fingers, up her arm, over her shoulder, along the single straight line that ran through her cheek. He sighed: she had been crying.

"Anything new about the case?"

"Nick and Sara are in Costa Rica. They've sent me some photos of your studio. It's a mess."

She didn't know the reason of her behavior. She felt angry with him, pitiful at the same time, but incredibly angry. He had no right to be his friend for years and then leave her, marry Sara, suddenly come back, sleep and cook in her house, kiss her. He had no right to do that. But he was a victim. He'd met a murderer, though he couldn't remember.

"Do you want to see them?" she murmured.

"Why not?"

His voice was gentle, something to cuddle with. And he could touch her nerves, feel her anxiety. Meantime she showed him the photos with her finger.

"Can you remember?" she asked him, finally in a low, sincere tone.

He shook his head, while having his eyes run on the screen.

"We've fought"

"He punched you. He tried to kill you. But you're here" he turned his eyes "safe." she concluded.

They stared at each other.

"Catherine, I-"

But her mobile interrupted him, ringing violently. She picked it up.

"Willows. Yes. What? You serious? Okay, okay, do that now. Yes. Call me when you've got the results. Great work, Greg. Night"

She closed her eyes, closed her phone and sighed in relief.

"What's up?"

"Greg found DNA around the wrists of the victim."

"Well, that's fantastic, isn't it?"

She reopened her eyes, nodding, smiling but on the verge of crying.

"You'll get through this, Cath" he whispered.

Catherine closed the computer and turned her head. Then, with the tip of her fingers she rubbed her eyes. Yes, she was tired. Yes, she desperately wanted hands on her shoulders, around her body, hugging her and telling her everything was okay. And yes, his being there with her wasn't helpful. But he was the one who touched her. He was the one who got closer to her, he was the one whose hand followed the path of her neck, slipping on her cheek. He was the one who hugged her, when she was trying to escape.

He picked the computer up from her lap and put it on the small table opposite the sofa, where the mobile phone was put some moments later. Then he completely encircled her body, keeping her against him, giving her heat. She adjusted her cheek on his chest, feeling his warm fingers on the other. Slowly, he started stroking her hair. Eyes closed, arms trembling, hot stomach, he caressed his friend, his sister, his baby with love and fear, in angst and in romance.

He breathed.

She put a hand on his side.

He breathed.

She lifted her head.

He breathed.

She looked into his eyes.

He kissed her.

Instinctively. Passionately. Quickly, on the lips. Like a boy who's hoping the teacher and his friends and her friends won't see. Because damn it, he wants to know her lips. Their mouth separated, she said nothing. She observed his face. And for a brief, eternal moment she stared into his irises. Then, as if she'd found what she wanted to be there, she stole him his lower lip, tasted it. Licked it, seductively. Slowly her tongue slipped between her lips, on his, into his mouth. She kissed him and he kissed back. Her hand flew over his chest, on his neck, behind it and took him close, pressed him against her. He turned his head, almost choking, lifted her body up and squeezed her leg strongly, near her bottom, while she straddled him. Her hands went behind his neck, and still they kissed.

But suddenly they broke it.

Both their body gasping against each other, they mulled it over. They thought about what it was going to be. About how it was going to be. About how much pleasure and how much pain they would feel. Then she took off her jacket. She let it fall and her chin raised.

_Can you tell me, softly_

Gil held Cath and they kissed again, more powerfully than before. Her thighs went tight against his hips, he got on his feet and still they kissed, touched

_How you'll always haunt me _

and while his hands were meeting for the first time new zones of her body, she moaned between her lips and between his, trying to remember how many times she had thought of this, how many times she had dreamt it, how many times she had wanted his hands right where they were now

_Can you help me_

the air was thick and dark around them, so her back hit the wall instead of sailing through the corridor and she smiled a little bit, amused by their hurry, and pressed her body against the wall and the thighs even closer to his hips, moving her hands from his head, touching his back and his stomach, hearing him breathing so hard, and still they were kissing when their lips separated to let his met her neck and suck it or bite it whatever

_**Hold me**_

he wanted and her nails almost entered his flesh while "bedroom" escaped her mouth to reach his ear. He pulled her against him and took her to the bedroom, turned the lights on and moved the hands from her bottom to her neck, lifting her face and deepening the kiss.

He sat on the bed, her knees sank into the mattress. They had stopped kissing, without the need of communicating it. They just felt they had to stop, and they did it. He started to unbutton her shirt. Silky, white, pure. Button after button, her skin was appearing under his fingers and his heart was going faster and faster. She took it off and helped him to remove his t-shirt.

_Come to me now, slowly_

He touched her bare skin, embraced her and buried his face in the fold of her neck. Meantime her hands were running on his back, caressing it and teasing it with the nails. But she stopped when she felt his fingers working around the fastener of her bra. She smiled softly, because of his tenderness, and slowly reached his hands. In a few moments her bra was leaving her body. She looked into his eyes as she let it fall on the floor. He gave her eyes full of love, thankful, almost scared of ruining her body. And yet he didn't feel ready to touch her_ there_, and instead hugged her, pulling her down, on the bed, on the top of him. She unfastened her trousers and he helped her to take them off. They turned, and now he was on her top. 

_You caress me, smoothly_

He stared at her breasts intently, then slowly moved a hand. He caressed them, followed with the tip of a finger the circle of her left nipple; and when he damped it with his lips, her arm went behind his back, pulling him closer. Her hand ran on his head, her fingers stroking his hair and arching like a woman's back.

_Calm my fears and soothe me _

His hand went down her side, caressing her skin, wanting it, haunting it, penetrating her soul and dancing in her blood. The fingers met her bottom, he lifted it up, held it, craving for her flesh. His mouth kissed the bare space between her breasts, the perfect, plane land he used to adore so much. With her hand she guided his head downwards, while his nose, pressed against her skin, was smelling its flavor, a smell he would never forget; smell of freedom, smell of revenge, smell of past. And he met her stomach. He kissed it. He met her belly button. He licked it.

_Move your hands across me _

She took her delicate hands on his chest and her nails followed the veins of his neck, peeping at his blood, at his heart, which was running so fast. And every time she felt his damp lips she moaned a tiny, sharp or sweet, moan of pleasure, of relief.

_Take my worries from me  
_

At some point he descended her belly, close to the most private point of her entire body. They both shivered; his next kiss fell on the border of her blue panties; she caught his hesitation (sweet and peculiar of him to hesitate now) and her hands abandoned his body to help him. Her fingers reached the border of her panties and pulled them down, slowly, letting the lace slide down her thighs. Suddenly his head lifted up and his eyes began searching for hers, who gave him the most reassuring look, so that he started to unfold her personal treasure.

_I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
To clear my conscience _

A treasure chest. Silk, muscles, secrets, pleasure and rhythm. Gently he touched her, gently he met the inner part of her body, the most scary and the most attractive.

_I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
Sacrifice, sacrifice  
_

Hardly had she felt his lips when her body darted, her back suddenly similar to a marble, purely white arch. She followed his mouth up her thigh, she closed her eyes perceiving his nose rub her skin, she buried the tips of her fingers into the sheets when he came back to her core. Her panties finally fell on the floor, while he was working at his belt, trying to unfasten it, trying to get rid of her trousers. He managed to have them fall between her bra and her panties. She sighed with pleasure and he gazed intently at her face, which was slipping downwards; it seemed he was asking her if she was ready to take a step forward. And yes, she was.

_Can you feel me, solely_

He swallowed noisily, his hand slid up her right thigh, lifting it up. Now their skins were smelling each other, almost melting, and she heard her heart beat savagely, fiercely. He leaned over her and she kissed him. Then her hands escaped down his body and she pressed her palm against his bottom, squeezing it, and making the boxers leave it. She felt he was worried. She felt he was scared at the utmost.

And damn it, she was scared as much as he was.

__Deeper still and wholly

His breath tickled her neck, she kept on shivering; her hands came back to his neck to pull his face against her cheek, so that their mouths were both close to the other's ear.

_With your understanding _

"Please, go" she whispered to him, her legs dividing under him and her belly pulsing violently. A huge, deep breath scraped his cheek as she recognized his arousal. They were both ready.

_And your arms around me  
_

Her hand tilted, her mouth opened as he pressed his palm against her inner tight. He knocked at her heart and she opened it, while his mouth was on her breast, again. He slid into her, his body swimming onto and into hers, his lips sucking like those of a baby, and she couldn't help but moan, louder, as he went deeper, crying, as he descended into new, luminous, precious depths; a depth they were now sharing; a moment of pleasure, a moment of pain, the moment of joining each other.

_Can you help me _

She cried again, breathed heavily, almost yelling. "Cath" he blurted out, as she lifted up her body, making an unique rhythm out of their two.

_Hold me_

He held her, strongly. He held her and he moved with her, and she felt protected, loved.

_Whisper to me, softly _

"I love you" she whispered, pressing the lips against his ear, pressing his head against her body.

_Move your hands across me_

Unable to utter a word, he moved his free hand upward, through the sheets, crushing like a trembling ship against her skin, shipwrecked on her fingers. She clasped it. She clasped his hand.

_Take my worries from me_

Until it exploded.

Boom.

And everything was over.

_I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
To clear my conscience  
_

He fell on the mattress, breathing heavily.

_I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
Sacrifice, sacrifice  
_

And suddenly she burst into laugh, her naked body shaking both for the sex and the laughs. He glanced at her, smiled wearily.

_I will sacrifice  
Will sacrifice  
Will sacrifice  
Will sacrifice _

Catherine straddled him, provocative but sweet, and hugged him. She put her head on his chest and he placed his arm under it, holding her tight.

_I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
To clear my conscience  
_

Their body calmed down. Their breaths slowed down. Their eyes closed.

_**I will sacrifice  
I will sacrifice  
All I have in life  
Sacrifice, sacrifice**_

And still their hands were clutched.

**ONE DAY BEFORE**

"There she is"

Brass pointed at the girl coming through the corridor. Catherine saw the typical reddish, wet eyes of the victim's relatives. She took a deep breath, while they were heading to her.

"Miss Damage? Catherine Willows, of the crime lab. This is Captain Jim Brass"

She shook her hand and the woman nodded even though her eyes were completely absent. Catherine gave her a kind, little smile.

"Can we offer you a cup of coffee, or something else?" she asked her.

The woman shook her head. She lifted up her hand and pressed a wet and crumpled towel against her nose. Brass took a step forward, his hands clutched in front of his stomach. He tried to use a low tone of voice.

"Miss Damage, we called you to ask you some questions 'bout your brother. Just a few, and if you're tired you just have to tell us and we'll stop."

She nodded, again. Catherine moistened her lips.

"Uh, you told us … you told us your father felt he was followed, do you remember? Could you, let's say, talk to us about this feeling?" Catherine asked, guiding her toward an empty room of the lab by placing a hand on her shoulder.

They all sat down.

"Yes, I've … talked to you 'bout this. That's because Bob …" her eyes filled with tears "Bob had this sensation, something really heavy …"

"Miss Damage, if this sensation was so heavy, why didn't your brother asked for help to the police?" inquired Brass.

"I don't know, really, I told him so many times to do that, but he didn't want to … he said he was okay … he said he could defend himself"

She swallowed noisily. Brass and Catherine glanced at each other.

"And did he ever had evidence of this follower? Calls? Steps, or ... has he ever seen this person?"

"No, never. No calls, never. But once … we were in his car, going somewhere, and he seemed worried and kept on glancing at the driving mirror … I stretched my neck to look myself what was there."

Her eyes went into Catherine's.

"I saw a silver car, a Subaru, maybe … that's all I remember. I hope this can help you" she muttered, and her eyes came back to her knees.

Catherine gave her a reassuring smile.

"Is there anything else you can or want to say to us?"

The woman looked up to Brass.

"My brother thought he was a man."

He nodded.

"That's all for now, Miss Damage. Should you remember something, please call the lab. It's important" he stated, watching her stand up.

The woman, fragile and delicate, nodded for the last time, thanked them and made her way through the door. Catherine sighed and they followed her, commenting vaguely about the meeting. They were still walking when Greg appeared and slowed down to say hi to them.

"How's life, guys?" he smiled.

"Anything new, Greg?"

Even though she would have never admitted it, Catherine loved to be bossy and sound strict.

"I'm working on the strings. I'm trying to find where they come from."

"Journalists will love a violinist in the place of a murderer" Brass muttered.

Catherine suddenly stopped walking. They both startled and turned their head to ask her an explanation.

"What did you say?"

"I said journalists …"

"No, no, that thing with the violinist … a player, yes! Greg" she gave him a firm gaze "check for DNA round the wrists of the victim"

"But Catherine …" Greg started, trying to hide a smile.

"What?"

"Violinists don't play with their fingers. They have a-"

"I know what they have" she interrupted him, and he shut up "but I want you to check them. Clear?"

"Yep"

Catherine nodded briefly and walked away.

_Okay, so … my first scene rated M ever. And yet I don't feel ashamed XD the song is "Sacrifice" by T.A.T.U. I loved it, both the rhythm and the lyrics._

_And I loved them._

_I'm sure they'd have a personal way to make love, as well as they have a personal way to do anything they do together, hope I managed to communicate it …_

_Let me know if you want, I was so excited! Bye bye_


	6. Six

_Hi everybody, I'm back. Well, I want to briefly but sincerely thank you for your comments; they were all very sweet … I love writing, I feel I'm starting to improve my English and I love continuing this story. Everything is starting to fall into its place, as Catherine will say in this chapter. But what about them? You'll have to wait to know, my dear … since I need some chapters more. Hope you don't mind ;)_

_Please note: Catherine's "days before" have stopped. You'll still read what's happening in the present and then you'll have a look at the past, but from this chapter on the past will be Gil's experience with the aggressor._

_Enjoy and many thanks, _

_A fool_

Six

"You don't need a diagram"

When she woke up the first thing she saw was his back. Wide, tonic. She smiled at the sight of the very soft bruises her nails had left on his skin, but the smile broke as soon as she glanced at the bottom of his back. As she reached out, the sheets moved from her body, letting her bare and fair skin emerge from their strong color. Her fingers touched his skin, she shivered and hoped not to wake him up. Taking a quick look at his side, which was still going up and down under the effect of his regular breath, she moved the tips of his fingers downwards and caressed the skin at the border of his bruise. She observed the pink shade in between his sane epithelium and his hurt one. Then she let a single tip go on the bruise. It followed the curl of the two, curled again and then stopped. She closed her eyes.

"It doesn't hurt, if that's what you'd like to ask"

Catherine started.

"Hi" she whispered "thought you were sleeping"

"And I was"

She watched his hand reach hers and gently pick it up. He lifted her arm as he rotated with his body. She hugged him.

"Is something else hurting?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

He glanced at her hair and couldn't help but smile softly to its entanglement.

"Gil?" she insisted, but with the sweetest voice.

"Nope"

The tour of his eyes on her hadn't stopped. Her eyes were sleepy, but careful. Her lips were naked, with no lipstick or whatever, as he had wiped it all out. He leant over her mouth and kissed her, whilst his hand was roaming on her shoulder, in her hair, down her back. He pulled her closer and her arm slipped upward so that their hug tightened. Slowly, she slid on the top of him. Both his hands were on her body, when she broke the kiss, pulling the head back. He ached for her lips again but she stopped her mouth with her hand.

"What about …" her other hand touched his chest in the place where his heart was supposed to be "what about this? Does this hurt?"

Astonished, for some seconds he stared idiotically at her, amazed by the deepness of her gaze, by the thickness of her attention. He shook his head.

"Honestly, I don't know" he muttered, as his eyes narrowed.

Her eyebrows moved upwards, she opened her mouth to reply, but her mobile phone cut her off. She frowned in his direction, then left his body. He felt suddenly cold.

"Willows"

"Catherine? We got it"

"Hodges?"

"Yeah, it's me. Greg's sleeping in the break room."

Catherine smiled.

"That's sweet, but what about the DNA?"

"We've got a match"

"You serious?"

Her eyebrows went up.

"Could I joke, dear Catherine? He was in the database."

"I'll be there in a minute"

"Cath" her hands stopped, he heard him hesitating "I mean Catherine, how are you?"

"Better, thanks" she whispered, then closed the phone.

She pressed the sheets close to her breast and started searching for her clothes. When she got in the midst of the bed she felt his legs slipping away and tried not to care. Of course she was thinking about what he said. She managed to find her panties and put them on. Of course she was blaming him, insulting him, but she wasn't able to utter a single word. When she felt his warm fingers on her waist, she moved in the direction opposite to his fingers. But he insisted.

"Cath?"

"What?"

He showed her the bra. She snatched it from his fingers and slipped out of the bed, heading to the bathroom. When he entered she was brushing her teeth. She caught him reflected in the mirror and spitted in the washbasin.

"You've scared me" she hissed, drying her mouth with a towel.

His hands went on his naked hips and she bit her lips not to have a reaction he could be glad or proud of.

"Look at me" he whispered into her ears.

She couldn't stop the goose bumps that exploded on her body and mentally kicked herself for it.

"Look at me, Cath"

The air of his breath tickled her neck. She tilted the head and her eyes reached his reflected ones. They were serious, deep, popping up from the profile of her hair, which was a real mess. Catherine looked angry of a dry anger. The worst. But he held her tight against him and she felt more naked than she was, with her bra and her panties in front of the mirror, on which he could see each of her reaction, on which he could examine her face, see if she was disappointed or flattered by his words.

With his fingers he moved a strand of her hair from his face, so that she could see it all.

"I loved it, Catherine"

"Really?" she snapped back, pretending his words hadn't affected her.

But it is so hard to lie when the one you want to lie to is right in front of you, his hands on your skin.

"So what did you mean, before?"

He sighed.

"I'm a bit confused, and that's all"

"Fine, so while you clear up your mind I'm going to work"

She tried to get free but he clutched her hips.

"Have you asked yourself why I decided to come here, Catherine?"

Catherine closed her eyes, while his hands were sliding across her belly, embracing her.

"So many times …" she whispered.

"And now you know" he murmured, placing his chin on her shoulder.

She sighed and opened her eyes. Weakly, she smiled at him.

Hodges was at his place, as always. When she arrived, he gave her a bright look and nodded at the screen of his computer.

"Where's Greg? Still sleeping?" she asked.

"Here I am, boss" his voice came from the corridor.

She turned to smile at him and patted him on the shoulder.

"I've heard you made a great job with the results." she kidded the young CSI.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it" he mumbled, rubbing his still reddish eyes.

She winked at him and turned to Hodges. He pointed at the screen and her face filled with surprise; she took a step forward to read what the name of the man in the photo was. She let a breath go.

"John Bush. I know this man."

"Well, I thought you should. He's been to jail, he's been here."

"Murder" Greg read aloud.

Hodges nodded.

"And guess who was the CSI who worked on the case?"

"Grissom."

Catherine put her hands on the hips. Slowly, every piece of the truth was falling into place.

"Do we know his actual address?" she asked.

"Yep"

"Fine. Greg, call Brass. We're going to say hi to the bastard. Hodges, print the file and put it on my desk. I'll have a look at it when we come back. Great job, however."

She touched his shoulder and left, following Greg. Hodges watched her go, enjoying her scent and the eco of her nice words. But when he turned the head his eyes accidentally fell on Wendy, and he felt guilty. So he shook his head and focused on his task.

**EIGHT DAYS BEFORE**

_**(Gil's house)**_

He was sitting at his desk, reading what was written on the screen of his computer. Better: he was _trying_ to read something. The feeling of being followed hadn't left him. It had begun some days before. A shape in the corner of his eyes, someone coughing behind him. Gradually, he had stopped going out and instead he preferred to stay home, in his studio. Working. Because work was the solution to every problem: he'd learnt that so many years before, at the lab of Las Vegas. _His_ lab.

He smiled and turned the head to have a look at the photo that was on his wall. The photo of his (ex) whole team. Oh, he was so young in that photo. They were all young. Full of hope and with a long, almost infinite road under their feet. He sighed, his melancholy mixing up with doubt. Should he tell someone? Should he call her? He had often asked it himself, before. But he'd always answered _no, God, I can make it by myself._

The truth is he was scared. Alone, stuck in a place he didn't know that much, though he liked it, he was frightened. But he was a victim of his terrible pride. That's why he put down the phone he had unconsciously lifted up. That's why he couldn't defend himself when two hands grabbed him from behind and that's why he was so slow at fighting. He saw his papers falling on the floor, his chair went down with him on it. He glimpsed at a face, was hit by a punch in his stomach, and then he felt very quick fingers tying his wrists up together. He closed his eyes and tried to face the pain in silence. When the aggressor finished with his hands, he turned him. And as soon as Grissom saw that face, he started.

Firstly, because he knew that the only reason why your aggressor shows you his face is he will kill you. And secondly, because he had recognized that face.

Grissom himself had sent that man to prison.


	7. Seven

_I came to take you chapter seven … a little bit longer. Thanks for the reviews! _

_When you've read this chapter, wendysam, I think things will be clearer. If not, then just tell me okay? Kisses,_

_A fool_

Seven

"_Are you goin' some place?"_

"_You never know"_

"_Are you considering me?"_

"_Why not?"_

"This is the house" Brass stated.

They got off the car and made their way to the door of the house. Brass silently gestured at his men, who moved behind them, then turned to Catherine and she nodded. He knocked on the wood.

"Mister Bush?"

Nobody answered. One of the policemen leaned over Brass and told him something.

"The car is in the garage. He's home." Jim whispered to Catherine.

She looked at him as he knocked again, stronger.

"Mister Bush! Police! We know you're inside, I can hear the television … please, open the door or we'll have to kick it down!"

But nothing new came from the house. Only silence. Jim gave a nod at his men, but Catherine, who had turned the knob, by chance found out the door was open. She smiled at him in disbelief, he shrugged.

"Sometimes we're just lucky. But let's be careful, it may be a trap."

"Okay" she whispered back.

He opened the door, glanced at the policemen and stepped inside. Catherine followed him, the gun in her hand. She stopped a few seconds after he had stopped, on the footstep of the living room. There, on an armchair, was sitting a man. He had a newspaper opened on his leg and was carefully reading it. He seemed really absorbed.

"Mister Bush" Jim said, and his tone was a mixture of anger, boredom and amusement.

Catherine observed him as he slowly lifted his eyes up and looked at them. He smiled kindly, folding the newspaper, then took off his glasses and slipped on the edge of the armchair.

"I'm sorry, at times I'm a bit deaf. Can I offer you something? Some coffee? Or do you prefer tea?"

He gave Catherine a look so intense that she shivered. She remembered those cunning, cold eyes. With a finger she involuntary caressed the weapon, which was still in her right hand.

"I'm afraid you'll have to come with us, Mister Bush. Maybe _we_ can offer you something" Jim joked.

He stood up, the smile widened.

"I'll follow you, detective Brass."

Brass frowned, Catherine turned and headed to the door.

"See you at the lab, Jim" she told him.

Then she went out.

"Catherine, shall we go?"

She glanced at the door, from which Jim had just popped up. She nodded.

"I'm coming."

She closed the file she'd been reading over and followed him. When they entered the room, John Bush was sitting with his glasses on the table, perfectly calm. Since he didn't look at Catherine, she sighed in relief. It wasn't really funny to be under the eyes of such a clever man. Because, though it seemed he had made lots of mistakes, she could bet he was one of the most clever men she had ever met.

"Hi, John. I'm sorry you had to wait for us."

The man shook his head. He was smiling, he was kind, he was keeping his eyes on Brass.

"So, John … where do you want me to start from?"

"Maybe from the reason why I'm here."

"Catherine, you want to tell him?"

"Of course. What does the name Robert Damage remind you of?"

The man glanced quickly at her, then shook his head in Brass' direction.

"Never heard." he stated.

"What about this?"

Catherine opened the file she had in his hand and let a photo slip on the table. Bush observed it, then gave her an empty, bored look.

"I don't know" he said simply, then turned the head to Brass.

Catherine lowered her eyes. Which was his aim? What did he want to obtain from that play? Before, he had turned her upside down with that intense stare and now he was pretending not to pay attention to her. She bit her lip.

"And so you can't tell us why we found your DNA around his wrists? Uh, and for the records, he was murdered" Brass hissed through his lips.

Bush shrugged.

"I'm sorry. But I really can't remember. I've got some problems with my memory."

Catherine's heart skipped a beat. She let a trembling breath go and barely heard Brass asking his next question.

"Fine, then. Let's shake your memory with another name. Have you been to Costa Rica, lately?"

"It may be." He whispered.

"Really? Better. Do you know this name, Gilbert Grissom?"

"Yes, of course I know him. He's the one who sent me to prison."

He had stated it without hate, disgust or something like that. Catherine listened to his words, watching his lips, trying to grasp the real sense of his words.

"Nice. I see your memory starts working. What did you do to him, Johnny?"

"What?"

Slowly, he turned his head. He narrowed his eyes, caressed Catherine with his eyes.

"What did I do to him?" he asked her.

Then, eyes back to Brass: "I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Where is he, Bush? Speak."

Catherine swallowed.

"Why don't you ask her, Brass?"

Brass frowned.

"What the hell … what do you mean, who should I ask to?"

Bush nodded at Catherine, Brass looked at her.

"She knows as much as I do, man. You're the one who have to talk."

"Nope. I can't remember."

Catherine pulled her chair back, she stood up.

"I don't have time to waste, Jim. I'm going to get out."

"Where U going, sweetie? It's so nice to talk with you."

"Shut up, she's a CSI. Talk again like that and you can be sure I'll personally lock you up in prison. Is that clear?"

"Don't mind, Jim. You know, mister Bush, I wouldn't call this a talk, since you do _not_ talk and pretend you don't remember what happened."

His right eyebrow went high.

"Fine. I'll shut up, then."

"Take him to jail, Jim. Let him mull it over."

Brass gave a nod to the policeman who was in the corner of the room. Catherine went out and almost hit Nick, who was coming through the corridor to meet her.

"Hey, Catherine, I'm glad of your enthusiasm." He kidded her.

But as soon as he caught the worried shade on her face, he became serious.

"What happened, Catherine?"

"Nothing." she lied "You fine?"

"Yep. I've taken the samples with me. I know you got the bastard."

She nodded.

"He's inside, but he doesn't talk. What about Sara?"

"She's still there. I'm thinking about coming back to Costa Rica and …"

The door opened and Bush went out, followed by the policeman. He stopped near Catherine and winked to her. She shivered like she did when she first met him but held her chin up high.

"I remember you, Catherine."

"She's agent Willows, for you" Nick snapped.

She stopped him by placing her hand on his chest. She turned her head.

"Go to meet Greg, Nick. Work on your samples, I can make it. Go"

He gave her an unsure look, looked at him and then obeyed her. She watched his back vanish behind the corner and then gave all her attention back to John Bush. She asked the policeman to let them talk a couple of minutes. Bush tilted his head and smiled cunningly to her.

"You're even more attractive than twelve years ago. How's Grissom?"

She didn't answer, just stared at him, arms crossed on her chest. His smile widened.

"He came to your house, didn't he? I'm glad he did. I don't like her … how is she called …"

"This doesn't matter. What did you do to him?"

"Just ask him, sweetie."

She lowered her eyes, shook her head.

"You don't help me, guy. You don't. Take him away, please. We've finished."

"Ask him, Catherine" he repeated, while the policeman almost dragged him.

"Take care of him and he will remember"

She sighed.

"I'm home."

The set of keys slipped from her fingers to her pocket. Catherine smiled to him, who was sitting on the couch. She smiled because he was asleep. She took her jacket off and sat on the couch next to him. Her right elbow sank in the sofa and the hand went under her cheek. She observed him sleeping peacefully and tried to imagine what he was dreaming of.

Maybe he dreamt of her. Maybe not. Or maybe it was a nightmare. She lowered her eyes and, lightly, touched his knee with the other hand. Many times during the day she'd been thinking about what he told her, in the morning. He was confused. About what? About them, of course. She had this huge fear that he might regret the wonderful hours they had spent before. But a thumb rubbing her chin interrupted her stream of thoughts. She glanced at him and smiled.

"I was waiting for you" he whispered with his sleepy voice.

"Thought you were sleeping …" she replied in a husky tone.

She tilted her head and seductively kissed him. When she pulled back, he was smiling.

"That's because I can do many things all at once." He stated.

She burst into laughs in front of such a statement told with so serious a face.

"How was your day, Cath?" he asked, turning a little bit on the couch.

"Oh, well …"

Where could she start from? Her phone vibrating interrupted her. She picked it up and opened it.

"Willows. Sweetie! How are you darling? I'm so glad with it. Yep. Tomorrow? I'll be there. Okay baby, see you. Hugs."

She closed the phone and put it on the coffee table.

"Lindsay?"

"She's coming back tomorrow, in the evening. I miss her." She confessed.

"How's she?" he asked, patting her knee.

"Fine. She's having a really good time and I'm glad with it."

She bit her lips, he narrowed his eyes, which became inquiring.

"And how's her mother?"

Catherine sighed. How was she? Really? God, she didn't know, really. Bush was a mad man. She was fully in love with Grissom and he was confused. All that she wanted to do was to straddle him and let him comfort her. But she couldn't, because she had to take him down his memory's roads, trying to find out something more. Again, her work was taking over her life. She sighed another time, gloomy.

"What's wrong, Catherine?"

"I met him." she whispered.

His hand tightened around her knee, his thumb caressed the skin that was lying under her trousers. She shook her head, took her eyes away.

"He's crazy, Gil, completely."

"He's ill."

"Two different words to describe the same concept."

He smiled, then curled his finger under her chin. He lifted it up.

"What's wrong with you, Cath? You know you can talk."

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes.

"I think he knows you're here. And I don't mean in Vegas; I mean in my house."

"How does he?" Gil asked, more to himself than to her.

"I _don't_ know. But the question is … if he knew, why didn't he try to hurt you?"

His finger abandoned her chin. He lowered his eyes, sighed, and Catherine could almost hear his head working hard, trying to piece everything together.

"Why don't we … why don't you try to remember what happened, Gil?"

She brushed his cheek with her hand. Slowly, he nodded.

"I've started to remember something. When you were out."

Her hand stopped. Her fingers slipped round his cheek and turned his face. She gave him the most reassuring smile. And he started to narrate.

**EIGHT DAYS BEFORE**

_**(Gil's House)**_

_From Gil's POV._

When I could observe him, carefully I mean, I was on the floor. He stood on me, he had his legs a few inches far from my feet. As soon as I saw his face, I remembered his case. He was a violinist who had killed his fiancée; he had strangled her with a violin string. I remembered I had put all my efforts on that case, because I was sure he was guilty, but it was hard to prove it. However, I managed to do it. So when I saw him there the first thing I thought of was revenge. He had searched for me and then found me, so now he was going to kill me. And he was angry. His face was dark, his eyes were reddish and narrowed.

Suddenly he started to talk.

"How you doing, Gilbert? Fine?" he asked.

I swallowed hard, because I was … well, I was frightened of this man. It was he who had the power.

"I would be better if you just set me free."

His laughter was sincere. He crossed his arms on the chest.

"I want to talk with you, Gilbert. And I want you to listen to me. Will you?"

"S-sure" I stammered.

"Look, Gil, I can't even be sorry for you … for this fear you have, you know … because I am really angry with you, dear. Really."

Still, my hypothesis of revenge made sense. Only after he finished explaining did I understand his motif was much more complicated than simple revenge.

"Why are you angry?" I tried to ask him.

"Why?" he almost shouted.

The problem was nobody could hear us.

"Why am I angry, you damn _Gilbert Grissom_?" he pointed at me, I frowned "I have many reasons to be. But no one of them is slightly similar to the one you're thinking of. I'm not angry with you because you sent me to prison. It was your job. The thing I admired most of you was your passion. You were fond of your job, man. You loved your evidence, you loved to investigate. And I got it. Oh, my dear Grissom, I got all your passion, and simply accepted it. Because I could perfectly understand you. I felt the same as you did for my violins. God …"

His eyes flew high, side by side with his imagination.

"This is the only reason why I wasn't angry with you, Gil. The only. So, imagine my surprise when I came out of prison and found out that … well, that you had _vanished_ from Vegas."

He had almost smothered that word with his lips. And I shivered, though I couldn't understand yet.

"I could accept you had sent me to prison, really. But I couldn't understand why the hell your big passion had suddenly ceased to be the … the most important thing of your life."

Suddenly, he stopped. I frowned again.

"You're … you're angry with me because I left Vegas?"

"I'm fucking angry with you because you left what _was_ in Vegas!" he snapped back.

He was red in face and I realized if I didn't react somehow he was going to hit me. So I glanced at his feet, stretched my legs and hit it with all my energy. He lost his balance and fell on the floor.

And I ran out.


	8. Eight

_Hey you, I'm late I know, and I'm sorry, but I've been mesmerized by the brand new series of Dana Delany, Body of Proof, and it wasn't broadcasted yet XD I'm so crazy at series, people. Well, I had to concentrate again on the story … and here it is._

_Ninth chapter will be the last, so watch out!_

_Tell me what you think about it,_

_A fool_

Eight

"_Are we good?"_

"_We'll be fine"_

"What happened next?"

One of Catherine cheeks met his chest. She was sitting against him, he had embraced her and she had placed the head on him, to feel him closer. Because she _needed_ him: it was something physical. Every time he spoke, her body went up and down with his. Every time he revealed another memory directly from his meeting with that crazy man, her body was turned upside down. She closed her eyes, swallowed slowly.

"Then? It's blank. I think I came in Vegas."

Her eyes met the ceiling. His fingers, tightened around her hands, caressed their back.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you come here? Because he told you to?"

"Actually, he didn't. But he did something. Somehow, he moved … somehow, he moved something inside of me."

She bit her lips, feeling suddenly childish, cold and hot at the same time. She turned between his arms till her cheek matched his. She cupped his face with her hands, rubbed his face with her nose. Grissom looked up at her, searching for her eyes to find the reason of her behavior. And he caught frighten in them. Something he should have foreseen when he first put his feet on her floor. Something that shocked him, scared him and made him feel guilty. His hand flew on her back, stopping just below her nape. Catherine shook her head.

"Come to bed with me" she whispered, staring into his eyes.

"Let's make love, let's cuddle, let's confess under the sheets" she whispered at him.

And her tone was so deep, so husky, so rusty, so sincere that he felt a shiver roll down his back, almost hurting him, and end up being a familiar heat between his legs. His hand slipped under her knees and he took her in his arms, carrying her light, charming body, to the bedroom, whilst she reached out to kiss him. Grissom kissed back and they disappeared behind the door, which was shut.

When the alarm rang, she felt a stupid. Before falling asleep she had begged herself, really _begged_ herself, to wake up earlier to observe him while sleeping. And now it was already time to go. That day would be different from the others they'd lived together, she was sure of it. It was a feeling, of course, but a feeling she could count on. Rarely her intuition had tricked her.

She watched him open his eyes and smile to her, sheepishly, she watched him rub his eyes and search for her body. Catherine answered to his hug but she sighed, since inside she was so sad. She felt his hand roaming over her body, lifting her hair up, playfully messing them up. His fingers ran downwards on her neck and she realized she perfectly remembered every inch of their time together in that bed, the first time their mouths had met, the first time he had seen the fragile skin of her navel, so fair. The first time he had descended inside of her. Catherine kissed his cheek and quickly pulled out of his embrace before she started to cry.

"I'll make us some coffee" she stated.

And she slipped out of the bed, leaving him speechless. His back met the mattress as he turned his head and eyes to follow her perfect shape getting out of his sight. He called her name but she didn't answer. He heard her passing through the bathroom. He listened to the water crashing against the tub and to Catherine flushing the toilet. After some minutes the noises moved to the kitchen. Grissom absorbed them. Coffee, a couple of dishes, a couple of mugs. Until the phone's ringing opened his eyes.

"Willows" she muttered.

"Hey Cath, it's Nick. Sara's coming back, she'll be in Vegas in the early afternoon. You there?"

Her knuckles went white as she tightened the grip on her mug, though it was hot.

"Yep, go on."

"Nothing new 'bout Bush. He just doesn't talk."

"What about the samples?"

Catherine wrapped her free arm around her waist, pressing the now hurting palm against her side.

"We've got prints, footprints, DNA … everything we want."

"From Bush?"

"Yeah."

Her eyebrows went up.

"You mean he didn't clean the crime scene up? He simply … left Grissom's office?"

"He didn't."

"Why didn't he? We … we got him. He's done."

She could bet Nick had just shrugged.

"Sometimes we're just lucky."

Yeah, Brass had said the same the day before. Catherine nodded quietly and tilted her head.

"Okay, I'm going to meet you in my office in, let's say, half an hour. See you there."

She closed the phone and was about to drink all her coffee in three sips when she saw him standing in the corner of the kitchen. She quickly moved her eyes away, blushing a tiny stupid bit.

"You were supposed to be in bed" she murmured, placing his mug on the table.

She managed to empty hers and almost threw it in the sink. He observed her nervous movements and his lips became a sort of disappointed meatball. His eyes glanced at her before she vanished.

"Going to the lab?"

"Yes. John Bush is done. He fooled himself."

"But …"

"What?"

She stopped in the midst of the living room. His inquiring face popped up from the frame of the door.

"But you're going to have a talk with him, aren't you?"

Catherine crossed her arms on her chest, she shrugged.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I know you well enough."

She clenched her jaw, trying to avoid the thought that he was right. He knew her too well, too much. His look told her he had understood she was angry with him and yes, she was fucking angry with him. Again. Her anger had come back, stronger than ever, after the sweetness of her love, after the carefulness of their fingers. After all the little, special moments they'd shared. She shook her head, holding her chin high up.

"I'll do what I have to. Now I think you need to know Sara will be back today."

And she went out, leaving him speechless again.

"Jim?"

Brass lifted his eyes up and winked in her direction.

"It's a marvelous day Catherine, isn't it?"

She tried to smile, even though it was hard. Because as soon as she thought that she was going to lose the warmness of her bed, his familiar noises coming from the kitchen, the smell of something prepared accurately for her when she crossed the footstep, she felt lost. She knew he was going to leave. She knew it in the same way she'd known it before he first left Vegas.

"And still he doesn't talk." Brass went on.

"It seems so strange of him, Jim. The two crime scenes are so different. It's clean versus dirty. There is something missing. Something _we_ are missing."

Brass got on his feet and took a few steps towards the door of his office, where she was standing. He couldn't help but give a look to her body. She looked gorgeous.

"Grissom is the key" he let go "he's the only one who can give us some explanation."

"And he will." Catherine stated.

Brass frowned, opening his arms.

"What do you mean?"

She took the hugest breath of her whole life and pronounced the speech she'd written in her mind during the travel from her house to the lab.

"Grissom is in Vegas, Jim. He arrived to my house this morning."

His eyes went wider.

"You serious? Is he back? Is he fine?"

"Yes, yes"

She nodded, putting her hands on his shoulders. Then she looked into his eyes.

"He's okay. But let him … before taking him here, Jim, let him meet Sara and calm down. I'll tell her to come straight to my house from the airport, then we'll take him here."

He shook his head in disbelief, eyes wet, then slowly nodded.

"Of course, of course … tell him he really scared us."

Catherine smiled.

"You'll do that yourself. Now I want to have a talk with Bush."

Brass frowned again. He was confused.

"Okay, go. I have many things to do right now … just be careful okay?"

"I will be."

He quickly brushed her cheek and went out of the office. She headed to the place where John Bush was kept, opening her mobile to dial a number.

"Nick? It's me. Will you do me a favor? Send Sara a message. Tell her to take a taxi in the airport and come to my house. No questions, please. Tell her to obey. It's an order."

She shut the phone and entered the room where Bush was waiting for her. A playful smile appeared onto his lips as soon as he saw her. His back met the chair.

"No need to say it's a pleasure to receive your visit, sweetie."

"We have to talk."

She pulled the chair back and sat down. He leaned over the table, observing her with his narrowed eyes. She couldn't help but shiver, because it seemed he was able to see underneath her clothes.

"Then I guess we don't have an audience. Marvelous. I'm better at eye sex when we're alone."

Catherine gave him a little smile.

"I have another guess, Cathy."

"Which one?"

She leaned over the table, too. He openly inhaled her scent.

"He told you about our meeting in Costa Rica, didn't he?"

She didn't answer, just stared at him.

"But … there is a gap. And you're here to fill it up."

"Nice guess. Will you?"

Now that she'd completely merged into her seductive mask, it was easy to tease him with her husky tone. He shrugged.

"Will you give me something worthy?"

"What do you want?"

"Did he kiss you? Did he share your bed with you?"

Catherine's face didn't move, whereas her heart was racing.

"Then he had everything I wanted. You know what, girl? The only reason why I don't call you 'Cath' is that he calls you so. I'll tell you what happened."

**NINE DAYS BEFORE**

_**(Gil's house, Bush's POV)**_

I ran after him. I saw him on the street, then he was in my car. It was quite stupid of him, but I could justify his choice with his frighten. His car was in the garage and … well, it would have been too complicated to use that one. But, though the mine was closer, I had the key. So I entered the car and slammed the door behind me, then pushed the button to close all of them. He had slipped on the passenger's seat and was staring at me with his white, wide eyes.

"I'll tell you what, Gris"

I said it grasping my knife.

"I'm quite pissed at you. Where do you think you're going?" I yelled.

He pressed his body against the seat and stared at the knife.

"Calm down, John."

"I'm glad you know my name, but maybe you couldn't hear me. Where the fuck are you going?"

"To the airport" he muttered.

And … well, I couldn't help but _smile_.

"To whom?" I whispered.

He shook his head, then firmly said (moving his eyes from the knife to my face): "That's none of your business"

That was the really first time I wanted to pierce his heart, destroy that unthankful creature. But, somehow, I managed to resist. I punched him and pressed his cheek against the glass. I removed his clothes from the bottom of his back and quickly cut his skin. Do I need to tell you which kind of shape I drew? I don't think you need me to tell you. Because you saw it, didn't you?


End file.
